He dies in the end
by Amousca
Summary: [PostTOB] Coreen, the sorceress, daughter of Anomen and Amousca Delryn, just received her title of Cowled Wizard. Her brother meets a girl. And Anomen grows old... some things are just inevitable when an elf falls in love with a human.
1. Cowled Wizardress

_**He dies in the end**_

_I hope you're not tired of reading about Amousca, Anomen & cie yet. This is a kind of sequel to _Lich Hunting_, but don't worry, it reads very well as a stand alone. I hope this is a less exploited storyline, and that you don't mind that I don't make a big mystery of my story's conclusions…_

_And, oh yes, please send reviews. Please, pretty please? ;)_

Chapter I. Cowled Wizardress

Coreen walked into her parents' house. She just opened the door and went in. She startled Guillaume who was working in the kitchen. She flashed an inward smile as she saw him flinch from her sudden appearance. Apparently, the poor butler could not completely shake himself of his fear of Samir's tricks and her cantrips.

"Good day, Guillaume," the half-elf smiled to the man, who returned the smile warmly.

"Good day, milady."

"Is my mother here? I tried the Sphere, but she wasn't there."

"Yes, milady. She is in the library, preparing one of her courses, I think. You might want to knock before you come in, since she might be consulting lady Coltrane via magical means."

Last time the butler had come through the room without warning, Amousca had startled and, even disciplined sorcery being partly wild, she had sent a fireball across the room. She had lit on fire all of the library's books, the doorway, the curtains and, more importantly, Guillaume himself. Of course, she stopped everything with huge water cantrips and Anomen healed the poor butler before any serious harm was done, but Guillaume learned his lesson, to say the least…

Coreen nodded and went to the library. She was so excited she could barely refrain herself from spontaneously start floating in the air. There was one of those crazy levitating cantrips on the edge of her mind and her fingers hitched to cast it. But she had to tell Mother first. Then there would at least be one person left to tell Father, if she was too excited to say anything.

She knocked three quick times on the door, then opened. She found her mother sitting in her ever-favourite chair, an ever-huge book on her lap, three other bestiaries opened to different subjects all around her, and a sheet of parchment with quill and ink next to it. The elf lifted a rather dazed and startled look at her daughter. It was obvious she had been doing this for hours by the unfocused quality of her gaze.

"Mother, you should think to eat sometimes, you know," Coreen said, mock-reprovingly.

Amousca smiled wryly, set her books aside and went to hug her daughter.

"I do take sustenance, well… once in a while," she answered. "I am happy to see you, Coreen. What gives me the pleasure of your presence? I know you have been working hard on your final thesis…"

Coreen suddenly yanked out of her mother's grip. Amousca could see faint sparkles of magic fidgeting out of her daughter's hands. _Good news_, she thought wryly, careful not to let it transpire in her expression.

"It's done, Mother! It's done and received and I made it! They accepted it! I succeeded!" Coreen burst out in exuberant laughter as she jumped forward to hug her mother again.

"Congratulations, Coreen," Amousca answered. "I am very proud of you, my daughter. Or shall I call you "Cowled wizardress"?"

Coreen didn't answer, but her smile threatened to crease her face in half. Amousca smiled very hard to see her daughter so happy.

"Well," she asked, getting a little excited herself, "what did they say?"

"Oh, bunch of old stuffy figures in dull robes," Coreen bristled. "Of course it was useless to waste such plentiful magic as mine on a project of so low outcome. Of course, what use is it to waste magic to help a bunch of worthless and useless peasants to make their arable soil better? Oh, I hate them." The young sorceress was glowing red in infravision now. Amousca smiled inwardly. Coreen's magic was so instinctive, so close to her emotions. It was very easy to see how she felt, you just had to look of what color her aura glowed.

"Before you get going on the subject, maybe we should go tell your father. He will be very happy to know of your success."

Coreen went to take her mother's arm and literally gambolled along the way. They finally reached the upper floor and the shrine. They could hear his low chanting from the top of the stairs, coming from the open door of the shrine. When they reached the door, they could see Anomen kneeling on the stone floor, in front of the small shrine dedicated to Helm.

There was a blue cushion under his knees. His old bones did not suffer the cold and hardness of the stone floor as well as they had in his youth. His hair was almost completely white. He interrupted his prayers and turned when he heard the door being pushed. His wrinkled face changed into a happy smile when he saw his daughter. His hand went searching for his cane to help him stand up, but Amousca stepped forward, gave him the stick and helped him up. His old bones were not cooperating much these days. They were tired because of all the fights and he was paying in his old age the toll of his adventuring life earlier on.

It was always a little strange for Coreen to see her father so old, and her mother looking so young, when they were together. It was easier for her to deal with the age of each when they were separated. She was fifty-six years-old. Of course it was alright if her father was old. She was used by then to the idea of all humans around her getting older, faster. It was how nature made it work. She didn't even think about it when she was around him unless, of course, her mother was there too. She didn't know it, but the magical sparkles dancing around her hands changed to pink. When she saw her mother, still young and strong and in full power, it hurt to look at her father and think that he would go away soon. When she saw her mother, she found it unfair that humans had to die young, even if they were old, and that she could have her mother nearly forever, when her father would go away too soon!

"From the look on your faces, I take it there are good news," Anomen said as he walked with an effort to hug his daughter.

She hugged him, her eyes filling with tears. It was almost like he was melting in front of their eyes. He didn't press her strongly against his wide chest as he used to do. He just held her close, and she could feel his bones through his clothes and skin. Her hands were shining bright purple, and Amousca understood exactly why.

"Our daughter has finally achieved the rank of Senior mage amongst the Cowled wizards," Amousca announced, hoping to turn her daughter's attention to better things before her father pulled away and saw the sadness on her face. It had the expected effect, and the sorceress suddenly flashed white again and let go of her father, spinning around in joy.

"Yes!", Coreen exclaimed. "They finally choked themselves biting back their own criticism, and they have recognized the technical merit of my studies! Oh, I am so excited!"

Anomen let out a low laugh. "Well, congratulations are in order. Very well done, my daughter."

Coreen had been working for years on ways to improve the soil for better cultures. She was a sorceress, just like her mother, but she was not a battlemage as Amousca was; she was a magical engineer. As such, she had been working on a way to quickly measure the different plant foods in the ground and determine which ones were missing. After that, knowing quite well that political reasons would keep the Cowled ones to accept her as one of their senior members if she did not come to them with more than a way to help peasants, she had pushed her investigation further, trying to find a way to extract those different plant foods from different matters, so as to know which one put when on the ground. She was now joining the ranks of the senior Cowled Wizards; she would be a direct colleague now to Firiman Corthala, Morul and Nalia De'Arnisse. Firiman and Morul were both engineers, but Nalia was one of the fiercest cowled enforcers the group had ever known. Of course she refused to go after mere adventurers casting in the street, but she did not hesitate to chase down rogue wizards, even if they actually had a license. Moreover, much of Coreen's research had been conducted on the De'Arnisse lands – needless to say, as all magical research, not all the first tries had been brilliant successes.

"So, you forced those… how do you call them already?", Anomen said, mock-distractedly.

"Stuffy figures in dull robes," Coreen repeated with a smile.

"Hopefully for you, Imoen never heard you borrowing her lines," Amousca observed wryly.

"So, you forced those stuffy figures in dull robes to acknowledge the success of your project?"

"Yes, Father! I tell you, they were all choking themselves, biting back their own dirty socks when I was through with them!"

"I have no doubt," Anomen agreed, barely repressing his chuckle.

"All but Fir, Mor and lady Nalia, of course."

"Of course," Amousca answered.

"Oh, stop mocking me already!", Coreen exploded, although joyfully.


	2. Reception

_As always, thank you ever so much for your faithful review and suggestions, Finduilas… It's good to have a reason to go on with stories ;) I do hope I don't make a mess of the death of your favourite character and that it will be worth the read anyway… This chapter is more about Matteo; I hope you'll like to know how he's doing._

Chapter II. Reception

Three nights later, in the Delryn estate, there was a huge party to celebrate Coreen's recent promotion. She had invited all of her close friends and many of her colleagues, at least the ones she could tolerate, as well as her brothers and parents. Her brothers had brought a few people with them, mostly Matteo. Samir's friends were there too, although they were busy in the kitchen or playing instruments or amusing people with tricks and such. Matteo was standing mostly alone near the entrance hall, in a darker corner of the house, where it was calmer. He reflected that he could really not refuse his friends when they invited themselves at celebrations held at the Delryn manor. After all, they were his friends. But he couldn't help but be annoyed in his big-brotherly manner when they were all turning around his sister and almost drooling over her. Which was happening just then. He sighed deeply, seeing his very best friend, an annoyingly brash cavalier by the name of Rhizoperth, bringing a drink to his sister.

"Always stealing the girls," he mumbled to himself. "Even my own sister."

He heard a small, feminine chuckle behind him. He turned around, a little embarrassed to have been overheard, and saw one of the said girls, which apparently had not been stolen yet by Rhizoperth. Although this state of facts would not hold for long, as Coreen would surely send Rye away quickly and this girl was particularly beautiful. Her hair was bright red, long and of course bearing curls. Her face was small and oval, with green, almond-shaped eyes and carefully painted lips. She wore an unadorned dress of green, which matched her eyes and hair.

Matteo blushed. "I-I'm sorry," he said, not sure why he needed to apologize, but uncomfortable with a silence.

The girl was trying hard not to laugh. He was a little wounded. He was about to turn around when she spoke: "Might I know your name, milord?"

"I am Matteo Delryn," he answered. The girl was looking at him, a sparkle in the eye still. He was growing mesmerized. He wondered if she was going to tell him her name or not. When it became apparent that she would not, he asked her: "Would you grace me with yours, milady?"

"My name is Calandra Catasbeina. Pleased to meet you."

She stood from the bench where she had been sitting with two of her friends to make a small curtsy. It was obvious from her curtsy that she considered him one of the nobility and that she was not. He almost groaned; he was uncomfortable in these situations and this only served to emphasize his usual awkwardness with girls. He always made a mess of things when he tried to convince them that he did _not_ want to be called "milord". He replied with a polite bow of the head and stood there, wondering what to say next, and the silence stretched. The girl – Calandra – was apparently having a very great fun at watching him struggle.

"If I am not mistaken, you would be Lady Coreen's brother?", she asked finally.

"Yes," he answered. He was still wondering what she was getting at when she added:

"I worked a little with Lady Coreen. I am the priestess of the northern lands of the De'Arnisse, and she came to our village a few times. I must say she has great power."

"Yes, she is a powerful mage," he answered. "You are a priestess?"

"A servant of Lathander, milord."

"Then, surely, you will understand that a servant of Helm prefers to be called "Sir" to "milord", if an official title is necessary at all."

He was relieved to be able, for once, to put it more or less gracefully.

"Are you asking me to call you by your name, Sir Matteo?"

The people around were starting to notice them, he saw. Calandra's two girlfriends were looking at him with amusement and Rye, having abandoned Coreen earlier than expected, suddenly appeared and abducted one of Calandra's friends to the dance floor. Samir, appearing out of nowhere, did the same for the second girl. Calandra giggled as her friends were taken away by another one of those seductive knights of the Order and another one of those seductive half-elves. They were left alone together in their corner near the entrance hall.

"If you will allow me to use your name as well, Dawnbringer Calandra."

"Very well, Matteo."

He just stood there for another second, mesmerized for no particular reason. He berated himself for standing there like an idiot, but there was nothing coming out of his mouth.

"Would you ask me to dance, Matteo?"

He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. _Damnit_, he thought, _I'm fifty-six-years-old, for crying out loud! Can't I ask a girl to dance without acting like a sixteen-years-old boy?_ He made a step forward, putting on his best smile. He extended his arm.

"If you will indulge my doubtful skill, my lady, I would request a dance?"

She laughed and took his arm. "You really should not say that to girls when you ask them to dance, you know."

"Well, my apologies, but it is not exactly as though I can hide it."

She giggled again. He was growing addicted to the sound of her laughter. "I'll show you. You're a fighter, I'm sure you can learn. My brother always says it's not as hard as fencing."

"How do you know I'm a fighter in addition to be a cleric of Helm? I would be surprised if my sister talked about me to the people she works with."

He saw her blush a deep red. He wondered how he had embarrassed her, and was about to apologize when she answered, eyes looking for something to look at:

"Well… I figured that a priest would not look so… trained."

_Well, maybe Coreen was right after all when she told me to wear this tunic because it made me big shoulders_, he thought as he blushed a very deep red under her appreciative stare, which she apparently found the courage to bring back on him.

They were now in the middle of the dance floor. She let go of his arm, and extended her hand. He took it, and brought her in his arms, just enough for the dance. It was a relatively slow waltz, and she showed him when to start with a gentle push of her hand on his shoulder.

_I'm a fool_, he thought as he danced, his heart beating wildly. _Why must I be an half-elf and not age as all the others! Time would have knocked some sense inside of me by now!_ Despite his best efforts, he couldn't help feeling like sixteen-years-old again, awkward and heart beating crazily.

ooooo

Calandra did her best to guide him. He was not that bad, despite his warnings. After a while of concentrating on the dance, she was used to it enough to be able to stare into his eyes. She was a little scared to look impudent, because he was of the nobility, after all. Of course, if he was anything like his sister, he would not care a little familiarity, and she had already seen that he was not a snob. She was grateful for that. But she was still a little afraid to be inappropriate if she just stared a little too hard.

When she finally lifted her head, he was looking down at her. His look was unreadable, but she imagined a sparkle in his eyes that no one else could see, a sparkle that sent butterflies flying through her stomach so hard she thought she might faint. Matteo suddenly tightened his grip around her waist; he had been very chivalrous and shy up until then, one hand carefully resting on the perfect middle of her back.

"You should sit, my lady, you do not look well."

Of course, the grip on her waist was not helping. She knew she should have eaten a decent supper, no matter if she could fit into this dress or not! She lowered her eyes and somehow it was easier now to control herself, and tell herself to keep her head clear and promise herself that, next time, she would eat as much as she was hungry and wear another dress! Her priestess's robes if necessary!

In the end she reached a chair, and fell into it gratefully.

"Are you ill, my lady? I am a healer, maybe I can help you," Matteo offered, very calmly. His hand was on her shoulder, and it was calming. She could sense he was a very powerful healer and a good cleric, with his careful and calm demeanour. Although he kept calling her "my lady", and she was no lady at all.

"It is nothing," she answered. She did not dare to look into his eyes. "The dance floor was a little crowded. I merely need a glass of water and a little air."

"Very well."

The hand left her shoulder. Both her friends were back by her side, looking at her curiously. The most talkative one, Thaycree, was about to say something, but Calandra silenced her with a murderous look. Then she lifted her head, wondering where Matteo had disappeared.

"He's gone for your glass of water, I believe," Thaycree said with her conspiratorial tone.

"What?", Calandra asked.

"I think she's right. He's gone himself to fetch your glass of water, Cala," Laura concurred.

"Oh," she said.

Well, maybe she shouldn't have worried about him being a noble, after all. She was starting to feel better, but kept her eyes shut tightly, and tried to keep the smile from her lips as she waited, thinking back of the depths of his blue eyes, the ready strength of his arm and shoulder and his hand in hers as they had danced. He had the hands of a worker too, not of a noble; they were square and strong and warm and a little scratchy – probably from the weapons wielding.

Thaycree cleared her throat with discretion and Calandra opened her eyes. Matteo was there, holding a crystal glass half-filled with water and a carafe of the same liquid.

"I thought maybe the other ladies might appreciate a refreshment," he said, and set the carafe on the table in the middle. A servant was following him with a tray holding a few glasses. Matteo had not set the glass down. He slowly extended it to Calandra.

"My lady."

She took the glass. Thank Lathander she was sitting. Surely she would have toppled over under his gaze.

"Thank you."

And she buried her face in her glass, taking a hasty sip of the fresh water.

"If you need anything, Guillaume here will oblige you," Matteo said. "I will leave you now to rest."

And the half-elf bowed to the ladies, before turning away and walking slowly towards the knight and bard that had abducted Thaycree and Laura earlier. Calandra didn't miss a single second of the show as he was walking away. Now, after touching him during the dance, she had no trouble imagining his back muscles shifting as he walked…

She blushed and buried her face in her glass again.

"Girls, I need some air."

"Obviously," Thaycree nodded. She took the glass of water as Laura helped her friend up and they walked to the door. There were two guards by the door, and the girls walked just a little further away in the government district, to be in sight of the guards, but out of earshot as long as they spoke low.

"That's the first time I see you so out of your shoes," Laura observed.

"Come on, you can call a cow a cow, we're peasants after all. She's crazy about him!", Thaycree added.

"No, _it's_ crazy!", Calandra said. "I need to eat something otherwise I'm going to faint as soon as he looks my way!"

"I told ya not to let foolish thoughts of wearing this get to you," Thaycree reminded.

"Well, it worked, didn't it?"

The three girls started giggling and made their way back to the house, determined to ask Guillaume if there was something they could eat.

ooooo

"Anomen," Amousca called suddenly. Her tone was amused and surprised, so he turned from his conversation with Valygar to what she was drawing his attention to. Amousca, Imoen, Kelsey and Nalia were all staring open-mouthed at the dance floor.

"What is it, my lady?", the knight asked.

"Matteo is dancing with a beautiful young woman," Imoen told her brother-in-law.

"What?", came the surprised answer of the father. He rummaged through his many pockets until he found his spectacles, and he put them on. "Oh, I see," Anomen said.

The three women were looking very pleased and amused.

"We should not stare at him like that. It is inappropriate," Nalia said, not taking her eyes off him. It was too interesting to see the timid warrior-priest finally be dancing with someone.

"Well, Samir will have had more than one unexpected success in his life," Anomen stated. "Matteo _is_ actually good at waltz."

The other old friends of Anomen laughed as they remembered countless times when Samir had tried to show his father a few tricks on how to tell tales or how to dance or how to sing – Anomen had a beautiful voice, but the only songs he would sing were prayers to his Lord.

ooooo

"So, lovely lady Coreen, how are you tonight?"

The sorceress turned with an amused smile to the sweet voice of Rhizoperth.

"I am very well, thank you. How are the days at the Order?"

"It is rather calm at the moment. Nothing deserving of my great skill," the paladin teased.

"I see," Coreen answered wryly. Rhizoperth truly liked Coreen, her simplicity, her honesty and her sense of humour. It was also a form of sport to make conversation with her. And, moreover, it was funny to see Matteo getting annoyed at him turning around his sister. Although he would never do anything less than honourable.

"Hey, guys, you're missing the show," Samir suddenly bumped in between the two, turning them with subtlety to where Matteo was standing next to a very beautiful girl who was laughing.

"No, I don't believe it," Coreen exclaimed.

"Neither did I, but after some snooping around I can confirm that he is smitten," Samir said.

"Let's help him," Rhizoperth decided, his tone showing amusement and irony, both. "I'll take the black-haired one."

"Alright, I'm asking the blond."

Both started off towards Matteo and Calandra. Coreen made a half-smile, but turned the other way before her friends reached their targets, otherwise she might attract Matteo's attention. She walked to where Morul was, rather alone in his remote corner of the house. He was a very good engineer, but he lacked the ability to make easy contacts with people, and he was rather shy. And he was also older than most of her colleagues here.

"Well, Mor, if that's not a sad face I've never seen one," she started as she sat across him.

"Oh, I am not sad. Merely… isolated."

"I can see that. Would you prefer me to ask you to dance, or to a visit of my mother's laboratory in the cellar?"

The old mage crooked a smile. "A dance would be perfect, my ever-young colleague. It will remind me what it is to be young."

Morul had not been young in quite some time, and he was older since the death of his wife. Speaking to Amousca of the "old times" and such helped him to some extent, but it seemed this wound would not heal on him. So Coreen just took him to the dance floor and danced with him for a time, and she was rewarded by a warm smile from her friend.

ooooo

"I hope you are feeling better, my lady?", she suddenly heard.

Calandra spun around, and found herself face to face with Matteo and his two friends. She was feeling better now that she had drank a little, taken some air and eaten something.

"Much better, thank you," she answered. She was in the entrance hall with her two friends, and they were dressing to get back to their inn.

"We were wondering if you had thought of an escort," the other knight said.

"Athkatla is a safe enough city, but it is always better to have someone to walk over with you," Matteo's brother, who was supposed to be a bard, added.

In fact, the girls had planned to ask a carriage, and Calandra was hesitating, wondering if she should tell them so, when Thaycree said:

"That would be very generous of you, milords."

"Our thanks for your kindness," Laura added.

"Yes, thank you very much," Calandra said.

She saw the roguish smile on Matteo's face then, and wondered what he was up to when suddenly she saw him take her coat off its hook on the wall. He gallantly helped her to put it on. She blushed a little, and let him help her.

They walked out, the six of them, into the night. The guards saluted as the youngsters left the house and they took the road towards the center of the city.

"Ah, I'm so glad you're staying at the Five Flagons," Samir exclaimed when they told them where they were staying for the night. "This way I won't have to give you my advertisement."

Thaycree burst into laughter. "You're doing an advertisement for the Five Flagons?"

"Of course!", Samir exclaimed. "It involves a silly tune and a lot of clapping my hands, silly, truly…"

The girls giggled a little when he indeed started to sing a silly tune and clap his hands. It was even rhyming and speaking about flagons, drinks, pillows and theatres.

In no time they reached the inn. The gallant paladin held the door open for the ladies, and the gallant men accompanied them inside.

"Well, thank you for your escort," Calandra said in the end. She put her eyes on all of them but they rested a little longer on Matteo.

"It was a pleasure, ladies," the warrior-priest answered. "Good night."

They wished them goodnight, and the three men left for the darkness again.


	3. Jour de corvée

_Finduilas, thank you for your review ;) Eh, yeah I guess that Matteo took after his father in more than his adventuring career ;) It was good to tease him a bit by Calandra's wit; I hope I showed him timid a bit, but not too immature? As for Anomen… nope, he's going to die :in the end, so he's got a few chapters yet to go, don't worry._

Chapter III. Jour de corvée (if anyone can translate that, I'd be grateful… dictionary's no help at all)

"Seriously?", Matteo asked, his face full of hope. "Oh, Coreen, this is just… so great!"

"Don't go all around telling it's me that got you a place on that one," she advised threateningly. "Nalia will strangle me if she ever learns that _I_ have lowered myself to do my brother a favour to help him with his love life."

ooooo

Calandra was carrying two heavy buckets of water as she walked the uneven path. She had been walking for quite some time now, and she was quietly praying as she went, struggling to carry the heavy charge and not spill water.

She was very relieved when she reached the site of the new mill. It was today that they were pitching together to bring the walls up. There was even some exterior help that had been provided by lady De'Arnisse. A swarm of bare-chest men were turning cement, transporting stones, or driving nails in the soon-to-be palms of the mill. A swarm of women was gathering wood, preparing fires and transporting food to cook the noon meal for the men. She had been sentenced, with a few others with no particular skill at cooking, to carry water for the men. Thaycree and Laura were cooking.

The men saw her arrive with fresh water, and many turned around and started to come towards her. She set both her buckets on the ground, and rolled her shoulders with relief.

Then she saw him. At first she thought: an half-elf here? There's no half-elf living in the De'Arnisse lands, who is he? Then he half-turned, and she saw it was Matteo. She had to concentrate to keep her mouth from hanging open. What was he doing there? And, oh, my, the _sight_… He had beautiful, powerful and round shoulders. His arms were well defined and big enough; in fact, he almost did not look like an half-elf when half-naked, so obvious his fitness was. The line of his chest was a perfect sub-triangle, complete with hard abdominals, tight buttocks, powerful thighs, and defined calves. His tan was perfect all over, and his skin was glistening because of the sweat. It took her less than a second to drink it all in.

The first man reached her, and politely asked to drink. She smiled, and gave him a cup of the water with Lathander's blessings. She then continued to distribute the water to everyone down the line that was quickly forming in front of her. People were gathering around her, and were talking quietly, discussing if this should be done this way or that.

Eventually Matteo reached the front of the line.

"Good morning, Calandra," he said with a smile.

Sweat was dripping from his face and he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Good morning, Matteo. I had not thought I would see you here today. Are you not kept in Athkatla by your duties?", she asked as she poured him the water.

"The Order leaves us a little free time for volunteer work such as this one," the knight answered, taking the offered water. He stepped aside to let the next one have his turn. She did not stare at him drinking down hungrily his glass of water.

"Thank you very much, Calandra," he said when he was done. She nodded respectfully, and continued to distribute water. "I will not disturb you in your task any longer. If you need help to carry the water, I can help you if you wish."

"Thank you, Matteo."

And he turned around to walk back to the work. His back was as well-defined and shifting beautifully as she had imagined… She hoped her workout with the buckets of water was hiding the burning of her cheeks.

ooooo

After four other trips to the river, she could not take it anymore. She had stopped three times in the last trip. Hopefully she had a break for the noon meal, and she said the thanksgiving to the gods for this beautiful day and the food on their table and everyone's help.

After the end of the meal, she decided that she would do at least one other trip to the river. In the end, she made three, but at the end she was exhausted and her hands were all blistered from the handles of the buckets. She could not take it anymore, but she couldn't really stop. The men needed to drink.

"My lady, let me help you," she heard suddenly, as she was turning around for another trip, trying to hold back her tears. She might be born a peasant, but she had not subjected her body to the hard chores of agriculture for many years now.

She blinked twice to chase the tears. When she turned, Matteo was half-walking half-running to catch up with her as he was yanking a shirt over his head.

"Thank you, Matteo," she finally said. "But I can ask…"

"Yes, of course you can ask one of the cooks, but let me help you still. The others at our "cement factory" can manage without me."

She nodded, and started walking. "You can give me those, you know," he said with a smile in his voice. Without a word she handed him the buckets. She was very tired. He seemed to understand, because he didn't say a word, and just walked besides her until they reached the river. Then he let down the buckets, and sank his head in the river.

Calandra found the vitality in her to laugh at the sight, then. A knight of the Order of the Most Noble Radiant Heart, kneeling on a river bank, his head in the water. She was still laughing when he pulled his head out of the water.

She walked next to him, and put her hands in the cool water, sitting on the cool grass and gathering her robes around her. She sighed as the coolness eased the burning of the blisters. Gently, Matteo's hands reached for hers under the surface. She watched his hands coming closer, then gently taking her wrists and pulling her hands out of the water.

He started to chant. He held his hands palms up, the back of her own hands on his palms, and his thumbs were carefully wrapped around her thin wrists. When he finished his spell, her blisters were gone.

"Why didn't you heal yourself, my lady?", he asked. He had not let go of her hands. He looked up to her. She had been staring at his wet hair, and thinking that she wanted to let her hands run through his moist locks.

"I still have this bucket to transport many times. The blisters will come back, and I did not want to waste a healing spell."

Matteo slowly nodded, then he turned her hands, taking them into his. He gently brushed his thumb across the back of her hands, looking her in the eyes.

"You can ask me to heal you again if you wish," he said.

"There is no use in wasting another spell," she answered.

He smiled. "Looking at you now… I do not feel like I have wasted a spell."

Suddenly he blushed. It was becoming obvious that he was the timid sort, already embarrassed to have said this much, and that nothing else would happen unless she was the one to make it happen. Heart pounding, she slowly lifted a hand, and put it on his cheek. She removed a drip of water that was dangling from his nose with the tip of her thumb. She saw him close his eyes briefly. She wished she could touch his ear, but she knew it was intimate for an half-elf. She just pressed her hand on his cheek, and after a few seconds he opened his eyes and smiled. He turned his head to kiss the palm of her hand, and her heart made a jump. Then his free hand moved to cup her hand on his cheek and took it gently, and he kissed her wrist. Her heart jumped again, only stronger and faster.

"Such lovely hands you have," he said, low.

"Will you let me taste those lovely lips you have…?", she said. She felt stupid the very next second. By Lathander, she barely knew him. What would he think of her? She was about to move, but one of his hands slowly let go of hers. He gently stroked her face with the back of his fingers. Then he slowly moved towards her, until their lips were inches apart. He had been staring at her eyes all the time, and he could hear her breathing faster. Finally, he saw her eyes move slowly to his lips, and suddenly she closed her eyes and seized the front of his shirt to yank him towards her.

He closed his eyes, and let the feeling of her lips on his go through him. He did not move his hand from her cheek and the other that was still holding her hand. He was nervous, wondering if this was right, if it should be happening, if he shouldn't get to know her better first, if she just wanted a kiss or… At the same time he wanted to wind his hands through her beautiful hair, and to hold her close to him, closer than during the dance, and he wanted to lie besides her on the green grass of the riverbank. Just lie to listen to the water and taste of the sun on their skin. Yet her lips were lingering, and her hands slid on his shoulders.

Finally he pulled away gently. He looked at her with dazed eyes. Her eyes were at least as much confused. He took her hand, and kissed it again.

"We should return with the water, lest the others wonder what we are doing," she said, showing no intent of standing up.

"No doubt," he answered with a smile.

He helped her up, and of course used it as an excuse to take her into his arms. He carefully hugged her. "Yes, you are right," he said, not daring to turn his head to smell her hair. "I will look forward to another occasion of spending time with you."

She smiled, the head on his shoulder, when he said that. She should have known that a knight of the Order would be nothing short of an absolutely perfect gentleman. She laughed a little as they started back towards the mill, Matteo carrying both buckets apparently effortlessly.


	4. Night at the Temple

_Hello again… thanks for hanging on despite the delay in chapters. Finduilas, thanks for your review as always. I'm glad you like Calandra… and your crystal ball isn't all that wrong, you know… ;)_

_Please review!_

Chapter IV. Night at the temple

The helpers from other villages were sleeping at the temple that night. When Matteo, Calandra and the rest of the men reached the Temple of Lathander late that evening, there was a mother with a sick child crying in the chapel.

Matteo had rushed forward before thinking, used to being the healer of the group, but Calandra caught up with him. She sank on her knees besides the child.

"What happened, Marisa?", the priestess asked.

"He went in the forest, he said he was going to pick blueberries… I'm scared he ate the bear's poison."

"This is easy to treat, Marisa," Calandra said, putting a hand on the mother's shoulder and smiling warmly. "I will stabilize his state for tonight, and will pray to Lathander, that he will grant me the power to heal him tomorrow."

"Dawnbringer," Matteo said. She turned to him. "I have a Cure poison and Cure disease spell in memory at this time. Would it suffice?"

"Yes, most probably," the priestess answered.

He turned to the mother, Marisa. "I am a warrior-priest of Helm, a humble knight of the Order of the Most Radiant Heart. Would you allow me to heal your child, milady?"

The woman opened wide eyes and nodded frantically. Matteo crouched down besides the child. It was a little brown-haired boy. He was feverish and delirious, showing all signs of food poisoning. If Valygar spent more time in the villages teaching the kids how to recognize toxic plants, this wouldn't be happening, Matteo thought with an edge of anger. But he reminded himself that the ranger was taking actions elsewhere, despite his protection of the De'Arnisse lands. His status with Nalia was also unofficial enough, even years after his wife's death, otherwise it would not be the De'Arnisse lands anymore. So he couldn't spend all his time in the villages.

Matteo cast his Cure poison spell. Immediately the child calmed, but he was still feverish and unconscious. Matteo then cast his Cure disease and the fever disappeared. The child was very pale, but his eyes fluttered open and looked up at Matteo.

"Oh, thank Lathander!", Marisa exclaimed before she took her son in her arms, and held him on her heart, tears flowing down her cheeks.

"Mom, mom… don't squeeze me…", the boy said as he squirmed. Marisa let go of him, smiling through her tears.

"Come down, little boy. You have to drink water and rest now," Calandra said, her sweet voice deeply soothing.

"Yes, Dawnbringer Calandra," the boy nodded his head gravely.

Calandra sent one of the acolytes to bring back a little water.

"Who are you, Sir?", the boy asked, turning his gaze on the half-elf. "Are you a new dawnbringer?"

"No, little one. I am a priest of Helm, and a knight of the Order of the Most Radiant Heart."

"I thought knights were supposed to wear shiny armour," the boy said, his tone definitely disappointed. His mother let out an indignant gasp and caught him in her arms, putting a hand over his mouth. The boy started to squirm as she was apologizing:

"I am sorry, Sir, truly I do not know what crossed his mind…"

Matteo burst into laughter. "You can let go of him, I am not offended in the least."

"Apologize, Mikal," Marisa murmured as she set him back on his feet.

"Sorry, Sir," the boy answered, shuffling his feet.

"It's alright, Mikal. Now, if you are a good boy, drink your water, sleep well and do everything Dawnbringer Calandra tells you to do, I will show you my shiny armour tomorrow. What say you?"

"Really? Oh, that would be so nice! I've never seen a shiny armour before, just the dirty ones of the guards and rangers of our Lady De'Arnisse…"

The boy was silenced again by a look of his mother. Calandra hid her laugh behind her hand. Matteo merely smiled. It would have been funny to see Nalia's or Valygar's faces when they heard her guards or his rangers looked dirty.

"Now, be quiet, and let Calandra care for you."

"Yes, sir."

Calandra healed him first, but he was still looking thin and drawn. Finally she started another spell and Matteo was a little surprised. The restoration was a difficult spell, and it was also very demanding. It would help the boy to sleep better, but for what it took out of the caster, maybe it was not warranted in this case.

Matteo had yet to discover the scope of Calandra's self-sacrifice.

Calandra chanted the last word to her god and he granted her power. She laid her hands on the boy's chest, and suddenly he looked better. But Calandra was not. She swayed slightly at the end of her spell, but took an iron grip over herself, and willed herself to be steadier.

She asked that the boy slept at the temple that night, in case some other illness would resurface later. The mother was given one of the free cells normally reserved for monks. The child would sleep in one of the alcoves, where Calandra could keep an eye on him.

Matteo retired to one of the alcoves to pray to Helm. He thanked the god for the power that allowed him to help people, and asked humbly that power be granted to him still the next day, that he might continue the great work in His name. He also gave a thought to his mother, brother and sister, and especially his father. Finally he thanked his god for letting him meet a wonderful young woman by the name of Calandra.

When he got out of his alcove, he was thinking to himself that he should get back to the dormitory to shine a little his armour for the next morning, lest Mikal found it dirty. His train of thoughts was interrupted when he saw Calandra sleeping, sitting on the floor, her head dandling from side to side, leaning against the stone wall.

Matteo sighed. Of course she couldn't hope to watch over someone after casting a Restoration. For a second he caressed the idea of lifting her in his arms and carrying her to bed, but he didn't know her nearly well enough for that. But he felt the longing nevertheless. He had this longing to know someone, to be so close that it felt like the other was completing you, and that you were completing the other. It was a little strange to him, this sudden loneliness and the desire that she would become this person, that he would know her enough to just walk to her and carry her to bed like it is the most natural thing in the world.

He took a while to acknowledge what he was feeling, as he looked at her in her sleep. She was very beautiful, even in those dull grey robes. She looked very peaceful too, and it was like a wave of quiet inside of him to look at her so peaceful in her dreams.

After a while, he slowly walked over, and woke her up gently with a hand on her shoulder. She opened confused eyes, and looked at him.

"Calandra, go to sleep. I'll watch over him."

"You still have work tomorrow, you can't…", she started to protest.

"So have you. You have cast a restoration, you need some rest. Now go. I assure you that I will watch him."

Finally she nodded and made her way towards her room behind the altar. Matteo gathered the pillow and cover she had brought for herself. He lay on the stone floor on his back, a little amused at sleeping on the ground when there was a bed waiting for him nearby, and set his head on the pillow. Then he set his internal clock to wake him in twenty minutes, that he might check Mikal's state, and fell asleep. He went through the night just like that, waking every twenty minutes to check on the boy. It was often useful for priests to be able to sleep despite the watching over.

ooooo

Matteo spent three days working at the mill. He spent two nights talking with Calandra in the main room of the temple until a very late hour of the night, when they could almost not make sentences anymore because they were too tired. Then they were both going to bed and falling immediately in a very deep sleep and pleasant dreams. They had not kissed again, but Matteo was getting used to holding her hands.

After those three days, however, Matteo had to go back to the city and his duty to the Order. The next morning, he stood in armour in his room, ready and packed, and was trying to find the nerve to go outside and tell Calandra goodbye. Finally he strode out of the room just in time for the end of the morning celebration.

"Oh, you _are_ a shiny one indeed," Calandra said with a mocking smile when she reached him. It was somewhat easier that she was smiling, even if she knew that he was going away.

"Order regulation 37, subsection 3, 4th article," Matteo joked.

"I see," she answered exaggeratedly.

They stood in silence for a second, uneasiness growing, until Matteo said:

"I… I have to go back, but I promise I'll write to you."

"And I will write you back."

"And I will wait impatiently for your answers."

There was another silence. Matteo realized he might have made his farewells before he put his armour on… now he couldn't possibly hug her, wearing his Blue Dragon Scale.

Finally Calandra made a step forward, lifting herself on tiptoe to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. He allowed his hand to linger on her back for a second, his eyes closed and every part of his body imagining her contact.

"Goodbye, Sir Matteo," she said.

"Farewell, Dawnbringer Calandra."

He turned and left the temple, his heart delighted by her assurances that she would answer his letters, and at the same time inexplicably heavy.


	5. Order's Campaign

_First of all, sorry for the delay. End of summer, camping, moving, keeping track of my registration paperwork kind of made me forget to breathe for a while. Second, then thank you very much for your review, Kertal, it's very nice to know you've liked my chapter :) See, I did keep writing (even if slowly)._

_Finduilas: Eheh of course Matteo isn't quick to understand what he wants, but then I didn't plan a thousand trials for them to overcome after that, so I guess it balances ;) As for Valygar and Nalia, you're right that it's the first time that I hint to something. I didn't really write anything specific for them, I just thought that as unconventional nobility they just fit soooo well together that I couldn't miss inventing something of that kind. As for Matteo's parents… let's not get ahead of ourselves ;)_

Chapter V. Order's campaign

Two days later, Matteo found himself back at the Order's Headquarters, waiting for his meeting with the prelate. He was supposed to be sent on a mission or campaign. He had been stationed in the city for far too long for his liking; he had not taken an active part in the fight for nearly four months. He had been training his new squire, a very promising warrior and priest of Helm by the name of Ranloy, of course, but it was not the same as actually facing evil on a battlefield.

A few minutes later, he was out of the prelate's office and sent to his room to prepare himself to leave the following day. He was to be the second in command of an orc-chasing campaign. There was a band of well-organized orcs, with a powerful chieftain, trying to establish a fortress in the deserted hills just north of Imnesvale. Atta had warned the Order of this a few days ago, and the situation required a swift intervention; the ranger was too old to take an orc fortress by herself, and had asked help from the Order. She had helped more than once to hold the outpost from monstrous invasions, and the Order was more than happy to help her in the task.

Matteo had ridden so much in the last few days, to the De'Arnisse and back, that he was condemned to use the Pearly white ioun stone to be able to tolerate the saddle. He was not a very good rider, especially not compared to the cavaliers. His mother and sister, both mounting with elven grace, tried to teach him, but his almost-human figure did not take kindly to their grace, and he failed miserably.

So it was a great relief when they reached their rest point, the De'Arnisse lands, around mid-course, to let the horses drink and to walk the men. He was lying on his back in the grass, stretching inside of his armour, eyes closed, enjoying the sun as elves tended to do, when he suddenly heard the quiet rustle coming from the men when there were newcomers. It would not do for the second-in-command to be sleeping in the grass, so he sighed and got up.

"Matteo!", he heard.

He turned just in time to brace himself against the merciless assault of Mikal. He laughed as he seized the boy, turned him upside down and ran about, roaring like a mad animal, the boy laughing and squirming in his grasp.

"Are these the reinforcements, Sir?", one of the squires asked the commanding officer, Dankir.

"I don't think so," Dankir answered evenly. He was not known for a particularly good sense of humour, but he was not a tyrant either. "I was told we would be accompanied by two priestesses of Lathander. The boy obviously doesn't fit this description."

Matteo slowly set Mikal down when he heard that. His heart was beating faster all of a sudden. Could it be possible…? He forced his mind on more present things:

"I see you are well healed, Mikal. I hope you learned which blueberries not to eat?"

"Oh, yes Sir!", the boy nodded enthusiastically. "My mother forbade me to eat any until I am old-enufftonauw. How old is that, Matteo?"

The warrior-priest flashed a crooked smile.

"That's a few years, Mikal."

"Oh, but I like blueberries!", the boy protested.

"Well, maybe then you can go with someone older than you, that will know for sure which ones are good and which ones are not."

"Moma is never gonna want that," the child complained, rolling his eyes. Matteo almost laughed.

"Your mother was very worried. You have to forgive her." Matteo ruffled his hair. "Now, you will have to excuse me, young man, because we will be leaving shortly, and I must report to my commanding officer."

"Yes, Sir!", Mikal said, before he ran off into the woods, taking a last look at the group of knights in armour.

"I do hope we are shining enough for his taste, this once," Matteo mumbled for himself, looking at him running away.

There was another rustle and Matteo turned around just in time to see Dankir welcoming the two priestesses. He walked forward, heart beating like a caged bird, as Dankir was bending to kiss the hand of the first, then the second priestess.

He could barely believe his eyes; he had not known they would get reinforcements. And moreover, he had not known the reinforcements would be _her_ and her friend.

"Sir Matteo," Calandra said with a playful smile and a little curtsy, before being imitated by her friend, Thaycree.

"Dawnbringer Calandra, Dawnbringer Thaycree," Matteo nodded.

"Oh, you know each other?", Dankir asked.

Matteo let Calandra answer that one. "We assist with Lady Coreen's research, and met her brother last tenday, at a celebration for her seniorship amongst the Cowled wizards."

"Ah, so your sister is finally a fully corrupted mage, is that it?", Dankir asked in a dull tone.

Matteo stood there thunderstruck for a second. Calandra saw his face drain of color and the grey hardness of steel in his blue eyes.

"Do not insult my sister, Sir Dankir," Matteo stated very coldly. "You are not worthy of judging her."

"Do not question my worthiness, knight," the paladin answered. His hand was resting on the hilt of his sword. Matteo's hands did not move from his sides, they did not clench in fists, but his face was regaining some color. There was the taste of blood and ashes to the back of his throat, and he struggled against his anger until he was capable of stating his thoughts clearly and appropriately.

"You do not know her, and therefore are not capable of judging her actions. That is all I have to say. If you ever insult her again, you shall answer of those words to me, her brother, and I will defend her honour, because she more than deserves it. And I hope you did not mean to extend the insult to my sister's co-workers, because that would be less than tactless."

Matteo turned on his heel and left without a proper salute to his commanding officer. He mounted his horse stiffly, and went to the edge of the clearing, roaring the gathering order. Everyone rushed to obey him, as Dankir was giving their horses to the ladies and slowly making his way to the head of the group. Matteo did not look his way when he gave the marching order.

"Take the rear guard, Sir Matteo, and make sure we are not ambushed," Dankir ordered.

"Yes, Sir," Matteo replied, too glad to fall back to the last line of the group. He steered his horse clear of the company, then took the last position.

There he was able to relax and focus on the road and the bandits to watch for. His blood cooled sufficiently for him to think straight again, and just curse Dankir for a fool in his mind. After a longer while, he let himself be absorbed by the sight of Calandra's delicate back riding a few paces before him. Not too much absorbed, since he still had to check the underbrush for amb…

"Halt!", he yelled, as he pushed his horse brutally to the side into one of the bushes, felling a thug over, barely avoiding a crossbow shot.

"Cavaliers, go round with horses! Others, dismount! Priests, get behind the lines!", Dankir bellowed over the quickly rising sounds of battle.

"Well, we didn't know it would be quite so hasty," Thaycree said as she hurriedly dismounted and made her way towards the back of the line of fighters, deftly escaping the notice of the thugs.

"That's what we came for, Cree, now let's help! I'll Defensive harmony, you Chant."

One of the warrior-priests next to them was starting a Holy smite. The defensive spells washed over the line of warriors and suddenly they were better fighters. Then the Holy smite fell from the sky in a veil of silver and most of their attackers took heavy damage. The battle was quickly over after that.

"Battle formations!", Dankir ordered, authoritarian. "Inquisitors keep watch and detect evil. Healing."

The warrior-priests and the priestesses started to go through the ranks of the battle formations, and gave healing to those that were in most dire need. Calandra had never seen a battle before, the De'Arnisse lands being extremely peaceful, thanks to lady Nalia's careful leadership. She had seen many serious injuries, mainly from agriculture accidents, like a man cutting his leg in half with an axe, or a cut tree falling on a child, or a mad horse running someone over. But she had never seen a man hit another man with the purpose of killing. She had never seen blood-stricken armour, indented by the thrusts of the enemy, she had never seen the clean and deep cuts of the swords, never extracted a crossbow bolt, never healed the ragged wound of an axe. She was a healer, and it was possible for her to repair all this damage as easily as she could repair a broken leg because of a fallen tree, but she was wondering if this was her place.

Thaycree was close to being sick next to her, going from wounded to wounded stoically, distributing her healing spells and comforting words to the men, but many felt the need to put a hand on her shoulder to tell her that they were alright. Finally she spent her last healing spell, and went to sit a little apart from the men, her back on the battlefield and the many corpses. One of the inquisitors that were standing guard discreetly made a few steps to the side to watch over her without intruding upon her.

Calandra was a little more experienced, and had a few more spells to spare. But eventually she finished them too, and went to sit next to her friend. Thaycree had gained back some colors, but both were grateful to feel the hug of each other.

They both felt a reassuring hand on their shoulders, channelling them with calming and soothing energies. Calandra and Thaycree both sighed and relaxed, eyes closed.

"It is horrendous the first time. And the others. But as healers we can do something about it, and it makes it easier for me," Matteo began. "But _I_ have chosen this way to fight. My sister fights for the poor with her magic. You help the same people everyday in a very important way. You do not have to take on _this_ sort of fight if you do not wish to. There is more than enough to be done in the world; you don't need to face the brunt of a fight to do something important."

"But we have promised our help, and without us you are two healers less. We will hold our promise. We will follow you and help you in this mission," Calandra stated decidedly.

"Of course we will," Thaycree snarled. "How dare you doubt our determination, goody-two-shoes." She rubbed her face of her tears and was about to stand. Matteo smiled and offered her his hand. She took it decidedly and pulled herself to her feet.

"We are grateful for your help and your courage, miladies."

He helped Calandra up too, but he held her fingers in a lingering and delicate way that clearly went beyond the mere action of pulling her to her feet.


	6. The End Nears

_Hello!_

_Kyubak: thanks for the review :) Though I apologize in advance for not writing more about Coreen and Samir. I've got other plans (separate texts) planned for them, maybe later ;)_

_Finduilas: thanks for the review (you know I don't mind if I get it late, but I'm always happy when I get one). I'm glad you liked my Mikal, he was funny to write. As always, I thank you for your useful suggestions about style. Do you want to open a pool of bets to know who of Calandra and Matteo will be making the move? Eheh. Faites vos jeux!_

_Arabellaesque: thanks for the review :) It made me smile at my computer to hear your good words._

_Always awaiting comments and suggestions :)_

Chapter VI. The end nears

Anomen could remember innumerable days waking up next to her. His first and only love, the fair elf who had become his wife. He could remember their youth, when he would wake up after a complete night holding her in his arms, her head on his shoulder. When he had still been in his twenties and with all the strength of his youth, he could sleep with her like that through the night. But as he aged, his arm and back started to stiffen from holding still all this time. But then, she would sense his heaviness when she entangled herself from his arms, and would massage his shoulder and back to compensate for the discomfort she brought him. But now, she slept carefully on her side of the bed; even her slim body was a weight his chest could no longer hold for the night.

He looked at her this morning. He whispered in his mind one of his numerous prayers of thanksgiving to Helm to wake up next to her, to have found her, and that she loved him. She was beautiful as ever, a young elf still, with her seventy-eight years-old, sleeping peacefully next to him. He prayed to Helm for the strength of aging next to her who was keeping young, and not let this ruin the joy of his lifelong happiness by her side.

He knew the call of his god was becoming stronger. His time was drawing nearer. He was old enough and wise enough to be at peace with this for a few years already, but still he felt sadness to be soon leaving her, and a definite longing to stay with her forever. But there was no use in fighting the inevitable, and age had been merciful on him.

He slowly stroked her hair. She wore it in a single tress to sleep, and a few strands were free on her face. As the years passed, he had felt her change to accommodate his age; he was not sure if she was aware of it herself. The elf had started to sleep more, like a human. The maternal responsibilities and fading forces of her aging husband had gradually forced her youthful exuberance to be dulled into a calm beyond that of her people. Anomen hoped he did not remove too much of her dignity with this change she lived reflexively, as though answering to him in ways she could not consciously choose.

She stirred and woke; she opened her eyes to look at him, and a smile played on her lips. He felt the need, then, to hold her against him, and rolled on the side to hold her against his chest. She gently slid her arms around his torso, and let her head rest on his chest. He held her a long moment.

"I love you, Anomen," she said then, apparently sensing with her keen mind that there was something troubling him.

"I love you too, Amousca."

He held her a while longer and finally let her go. She stood and went to her mirror. Anomen could also remember the mornings when he combed her hair in the yellow light of the early sun, how it was to thread the rich golden silk of her hair. But again, age had come and made his fingers awkward, and he did not comb her hair anymore.

But his old age was not an indignity, despite its inconveniences. He had had many missions for the Order in his young age, then a teaching charge with weapon mastery, then an administrative role within the Order. He had not suffered in his service of Helm because of his age. He had not suffered either in his family, as his children grew up to be people he could be proud of, and his wife was not one to pain him because of their difference of race.

She had, after all, decreed long ago that she was "cursed" with a long lifespan, and that she would see everyone die around her, if her Bhaalspawn blood didn't see to it first. She was not so bitter about this anymore. With time, this concern for her loved ones had faded somewhat as there were no more assassins sent after them and that the battle among the siblings of Bhaal was definitively over.

ooooo

Samir arrived just after the breakfast to pay his weekly visit to his mother and father. He played the harp for them in the living room, discussing lightly what had been happening at the inn and what he heard of who had met who at the De'Arnisse lands last tenday. Anomen smiled wryly to hear his son serving them the worst of the district gossip on his own brother. But as Matteo had been a most prized match by the noble young women of Athkatla – a chivalrous member of the Order, less volatile and flighty then Samir, he was deemed a good catch by the mothers of young ladies – and so it was doomed to make talk that he was taking obvious interest in a young nameless priestess.

ooooo

Three tendays later, no more, Matteo was bringing Calandra home to have dinner with his family. She was slightly timid, but for once Samir resisted the urge to have fun at his brother's expanse and simply animated the evening rather nicely. Calandra eventually relaxed and, when Matteo stepped outside with her to accompany her to the carriage that would take her back to her inn, she was unanimously declared a charming young lady by the rest of the family.

Matteo was more secretive of his "affairs" in the following weeks, and even gossip-monger Samir did not manage to get many details about what had been going on besides that they were exchanging letters, the frequency of which he did not manage to learn. And, one day of early Mirtul, Matteo came home with a powerful energy in his step, sparkles in his eyes and a definitely happy smile on his face to announce his parents that he would marry the woman he loved, a kind and devoted priestess of Lathander by the name of Calandra.

"Not too soon, Matteo," Amousca said wryly as she hugged him to congratulate him.

Anomen chuckled lightly, knowing this jab was at least as much for him as it was for his son.

"Hey, what does that funny look mean?", Matteo asked, seeing the look his parents were exchanging.

"Well, you certainly got your 'delay' behaviour from one of us," Amousca teased, "and it wasn't me. But I trust you found a better place than Hell to ask your ladylove."

Matteo stared at his father for a while.

"No! Father, you didn't…"

Anomen sighed and was about to defend himself when Amousca apparently took pity on him.

"Don't think it so, Matteo. It was a very… chaotic time in my life and, strange as it may sound, the Pocket Plane was among the less bad places we could be at the time."

"That is rather a polite way to put it, my love. That very day, we had been battling scores of minions in Sendai's enclave."

"Do you think I forgot?", Amousca whispered. "I remember you, with Keldorn and Sarevok, walking into the traps of that despicable lich…"

Her face darkened with the memory, and Anomen put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Matteo suddenly had an insight of what it was that worried so his mother in the knowledge that he was a warrior, and a soldier of the Order. He did not move or make a sound, because his parents were suddenly intimate, sharing a look that spoke of the years of life they had spent together, and the deep understanding and trust they had.

Anomen spoke low, "I almost cannot believe now that I needed to see the look in your eyes, the guilt for my injuries because I took the first line, the fear for my life, the… uncertainty for your destiny… I should not have needed that to give me the courage to offer you my hand."

In that moment, he had known he did not want to die her lover; he had realized that he wanted to live or die her husband, if she would have him.

Time, years and age were forgotten for the moment, as Amousca smiled tenderly upon Anomen, and caressed his cheek slowly, lovingly. The knight took her hand on his cheek and kissed it slowly.

The moment was passed, and Matteo allowed himself to chuckle, reminding them that he was still standing next to them.

"And you wonder why Samir became a bard? With such a romantic love story right under his nose… Bah!"

Both his parents laughed.

"Such a romantic love story?", Amousca repeated with a beaming smile. "Being asked for my hand in Hell, in the middle of the chaos sowed by the Bhaalspawn and their hunt? With my brother, who was little more than my foster father's murderer at the time, snorting at us? With my sister who stole my ring two seconds after it was put on my hand? That hardly qualifies."

Anomen laughed heartily at the memory.

"Oh, I had almost forgotten Sarevok's reaction."

"Uncle Sar's reaction?", Matteo inquired.

"Well," Amousca sighed. "He was much of the… tyrannical conqueror that terrified the Sword Coast still, you know. I had just revived him from a year in Hell, also, which certainly did not help his temper, I am sure. So… he seemed to take objection that 'Delryn-knightling' had asked for my hand in Hell."

Matteo wrinkled his forehead in thought, trying to picture Sarevok another way than how he had known him.

"And," Anomen added, "in turn, your mother took objection to his grumpiness. She stated that everyone of the party was happy in Hell, and she even accused him of being jealous."

"Fortunately Imoen was there to mock him with me, otherwise I think I could not have survived his ire at being accused of something so… un-evil," Amousca chuckled.

"Speaking of Imoen, did you know that your 'Aunt Imoen' was a thief in her youth?", Anomen asked Matteo.

"Well, she said so but, compared to her archmage magic, it seemed… well… less important."

"Well, she was my thief more than my archmage, as a party leader," Amousca stated.

"And quite an insolent young lady," Anomen accused. "She was spying on us as I was trying to make my demand with dignity and a little privacy."

"Even with elven boots, she could never quite hide into shadows when anything important was at stake," her sister remembered with a fond smile.

"She was not supposed to be a good pickpocket either," Anomen remarked. "Maybe I shall begin to believe her when she says that you were not caring much for my ring…"

Amousca reddened. "I shall still maintain the pledge of dangerous, careless exuberance, but not lack of appreciation of your ring."

Matteo shook his head.

"By Helm, it seems I will never hear the whole of your adventures, no matter how many you re-tell us."

"Some are better left untold," Amousca said softly, even if there was a serious expression on her face now.

Anomen put his arm around her shoulders, and suddenly she smiled, forgetting any darkness from her past as she smiled at him. Then, she turned to her son.

"We are happy for you, Matteo. But I do hope, for your sake, that you asked her in a better place than the Pocket plane, and did not wait to have her on the path to destiny to goddesshood before you decided yourself."

"My love, this is really unfair," Anomen complained.

Matteo laughed.

"Will you discuss the details of the ceremony with us?", Amousca went on after a wry look at her husband. "Or do you keep it for Calandra and yourself to decide?"

"Well, we thought of being married at the city's temple of Lathander, since she is one of His worshippers…"


	7. He Dies in the End

_Hello!_

_First of all, thank you very much to Kyubak, Kendris, Arabellaesque and Finduilas for your reviews. I'm very happy that I did manage to make Anomen and Amousca touching. Your reviews happened at a time while I'm under a lot of stress at work (grant request time of the year…) and you've made me smile and forget about the impeding end of the world looming over me from a few days afar. So big thank yous :)_

_Please keep reviewing :)_

Chapter VII. He dies in the end

In the following weeks, Calandra's and Matteo's families met a few times, even if Calandra's family was a little intimidated to meet such important people as Amousca and Anomen Delryn. To their surprise, both were easy enough to speak with. They were not nobles, even if the knight was born one and surely had their flowery speech; Amousca was accessible because she was a mother who understood their pride to see their daughter, born a peasant, becoming a priestess of Lathander and marrying such a charming young man. Anomen was somehow familiar to them because he was a priest, as was their daughter, and preached (or spoke…) like one.

The ceremony was a simple one, but the Delryn were now an influential family of Athkatla, and there were many people present, friends of the family and some city officials.

Calandra's family was impressed by the presence of many wealthy nobles, but as the young priestess had said, the Delryn were not snobs, were dressed simply, and were very generous with them, offering them the lodging for the night and a tour of the famous Planar Sphere to the youngest son who had put some foolishness in his head to become a wizard some day.

Calandra and Matteo fled the city on white horses, as was the custom, to go for their wedding trip somewhere in Neverwinter.

ooooo

A mere year later, Calandra had a baby, a beautiful daughter who was prone to smile even in the few first days of her life, and brought much joy to her parents, aunts, uncles and grand-parents.

When the baby, who was named Tani for Calandra's grandmother, was twelve days old, Anomen woke that morning feeling cold.

He did not move or speak, taking a heavy breath to steady his will. He prayed for a few seconds, and then he extended a hand to wake Amousca, sleeping peacefully by his side.

She woke with a start, jerked out of her dreams by the feeling of his cold hand on her naked shoulder, and some elven sense told her immediately, even before she was awake, what was happening. She sat on the bed, turning to look down at Anomen, and she heard his slow, shallow breath. She saw the paleness of his face, the serenity in his eyes. She closed her eyes against the tears. He deserved more strength from her than this.

"Call our children," he requested quietly.

She nodded wordlessly and wrapped herself in a cape. She opened the door to the bedroom and paused on the threshold to collect herself, but their old butler was there on the landing, carrying a few papers upstairs. When he saw the lady of the house there in a cape and her nightgown, his face lost colour.

"Guillaume. Would you ask Jimmy to go get our children and tell them that… that…", she trailed off.

The butler bowed, unmistakable sadness in his eyes. "Immediately, milady."

Reeds was getting a little old to ride recklessly around the city to gather Samir at the Five Flagons and Coreen at the Cowled Wizards' laboratory, and so it fell to the younger stable boy to run this kind of errand. Amousca trusted her daughter to get her remaining brother, who was now with his wife at her family's house to help her as she was recuperating from the birthing. They had left only two days before.

Amousca went back to her husband's side. She sat on the bed, and his hands came up to take hers gently.

"Do not regret me," he said.

She drew a quivering breath. "You deserve better. But I love you, and I will miss you."

He smiled. "I love you, and I will miss you also," he answered. "But I do not regret a moment of my life with you, and neither should you."

As always, her eyes darted away from his, and she fought against tears.

"I do regret turning into the Slayer," she stated weakly.

He hushed her with a press of his hands on hers. "It shall be Irenicus's regret, not yours, Amousca. And not mine… not anymore."

She closed her eyes, and pressed his hands harder.

"Matteo and Coreen might be delayed," she said after a while. "Do you… do you wish me to tell them…"

"No, my love. Helm is close, but… but he has delayed his call for a while already, and I think I will be allowed to see them one last time."

She nodded, even if there was curiosity in her eyes.

"I have been feeling the call of my Lord for a year, now, but I believe he has allowed me a little more time on this plane that I might see my son marry and give us the first of our grand-children."

They kept silence for a long time and, finally, Samir appeared on the threshold. He wore a creased tunic and pants and his usually smooth hair was tangled, as though he had jumped out of bed into the first clothes he reached. He was also breathless, but he entered calmly into the room, saying softly as he came near the bed:

"I am here, Father."

By that time, the house's maid, cook, butler and old stable man were by the door, but they did not come in. The maid was a young girl just recently hired, as the older one had married and left to keep her own household not a year ago. The young maid was, however, crying silently on the cook's shoulder; the older woman also had tears in her eyes, although she refrained. Guillaume, after a while of pondering, closed the door to give the family some privacy.

Samir settled on his knees next to his father's bed, and one of Anomen's hands let go of Amousca to reach for his son. Samir held his father's hand in silence for a while, his eyes slowly filling with tears. There was a long silence, and finally Anomen said, "I have never been good with words, Samir. But I love you, and I am proud of you. Will you… sing for me?"

Samir choked, but he valiantly cleared the tears from his eyes and voice, and he started to sing a prayer to Helm, a chant that glorified the valour of duty and justice that Helm requested of his worshippers. His voice was good, as it had always been, even if a bit quavering. Amousca was moved by this vivid homage their son was paying to his father's sense of duty and justice. Silent tears flowed down her cheeks, but she did not weep. Anomen was also moved, but he was a man and would not cry. Samir, once he had sung the last words of the prayer, forced himself to calm and added, holding tightly to his father's hand, "I love you too."

There was a soft knock on the door, and it opened to reveal Coreen and Matteo. Matteo bore the look of a new father, complete with deep circles under the eyes, and Coreen appeared drained of magic, which was no doubt the case if she had gone to the De'Arnisse lands and back, with only faint black speckles of magic around her hands.

Amousa shifted a little away from her husband to let her other children closer. She whispered to Coreen, "Thank you."

The young sorceress bit her lip, and nodded. Matteo urged his sister first to their father's bedside. She got down on her knees next to Samir, and started to cry in earnest.

"I love you, Coreen. You have made me proud. Know that I will watch you, and you will have words of me if you ever relish that fight of yours against the 'stuffy old figures in dull robes' and their accomplices, the 'stuffy old figures in wealthy clothes'."

Coreen managed to giggle even as she was crying.

"I swear, Father, you've made me far too stubborn to ever stop fighting them." She paused to sob, then she added, "I love you too, Father. I'll miss having words with you."

Amousca smiled fondly as she saw again that Coreen was the only one on Faerûn who could annoy and amuse Anomen so at the same time. But his time was drawing near, and he had no time for "words" now.

Samir and Coreen made a few steps sideways, and Matteo knelt next to them.

"Mary, Mina, Reeds, Guillaume and Jimmy are by the door. They all wanted to say how happy and honoured they are to have served such a just and generous master," Matteo said first.

Anomen made a small smile, which the servants by the door stretched their necks to see. Anomen's voice was weaker now.

"And I thank them. I have much affection for them also."

Mary and Mina did not resist anymore and started crying more loudly, soon being consoled by a pained-looking Guillaume. Then, Anomen's hand reached for Matteo's, and the servants by the door were forgotten. Matteo took his father's hand.

"I love you, Father," Matteo said. "I will pray to Helm…" The half-elf trailed off, not knowing exactly what he wanted to pray for, but he had no time to think on it.

"I will be grateful if you are the one to say the prayers for me when I go." Matteo nodded silently. "I… I love you, Matteo, and… and… I am glad that you followed my steps. I hope… you did not…"

Anomen was fighting for breath now, but Matteo, crying, knew what his father had in mind.

"No, Father. I followed your steps because you have set an example I wanted to follow… I was _proud_ to follow… not because I have ever felt forced to. And I will be proud if anyone says of me that I am honouring my father with my actions."

This brought tears to Anomen's eyes at last. "I am so proud of you, Matteo. But Helm is calling strongly now… his call has reached me at last… Amousca…"

Immediately, the three half-elves drew back to let their mother take back her place by her husband's side. They hugged together, sniffing.

Amousca caressed Anomen's cheek slowly, tears down her face, and she was shaking with sobs she did not allow herself to release. She would not cry before he was gone and would not see her lacking so much strength.

"My love," she said in a broken voice.

"I will wait for you by Helm's side," he whispered. She nodded, squeezing both his hands. And then, he closed his eyes, and did not breathe again.

Amousca fell forward to hug him one last time, crying on his shoulder. His shoulder had been there for her to cry or lean on in so many occasions before, and would never be again, she realized with a heart-wrenching agony. He was gone.

She closed her eyes. She managed to pray.

"You shone on him once. You gave me back my heart and my hope, then. I beg You to shine on him a second time. He is not heading for the Keep of the Eternal Sun, but I request, humbly, if You still have the strength, that You shine on his journey, until he reaches Helm's side. I pray to You, Amaunator."

And then, she collapsed sobbing.

ooooo

Amousca cried a while over his body, but eventually she drew back with an effort, and then she fell in her children's arms, and they cried together a while, until they were gently pushed out of the room by Guillaume. Jimmy again was sent to get the priests of Helm that would take care of the body. The cook gave them some hot tea that calmed them slightly. And so, the bereavement had begun.


	8. Life Goes On

_Hello again!_

_I've been under serious attack by a KotOR-playing rage recently. Hopefully that will be over now, and I'm back to fanfiction._

_Arabellaesque, Kyubak and Finduilas, thank you very much for your reviews :) Not that I'm a cruel person, but I'm glad to know you cried ;) (at least two of you). I'm very proud that I managed to put emotion into Anomen's death at last. But I'm not one to abandon broken-hearted characters in their most difficult moments (well…. err… not in their most difficult moment), so here is a sort of epilogue to smoothen things a bit…_

_That will be the end! I hope you enjoyed my story…_

Chapter VIII. Life goes on

Nalia, Valygar, Imoen and Kelsey, the only remaining companions of the adventuring days of Anomen and Amousca, came to visit to be there for Amousca, Samir, Coreen and Matteo. There are never too many close friends to give affection in those situations, and they stayed for a few days; Amousca felt a lot better facing this loss with the presence of her sister.

Matteo sang the prayers for his father's quiet journey to Helm's side, while Samir accompanied him on the harp. After the three days of prayers, Matteo felt that he needed to return to his wife and daughter, and it was again Coreen that took him there. As soon as they emerged from the teleport, Calandra got out of the house, and she stopped dead when she saw Matteo. But then, she put on her priestess's face, and walked forward. Matteo just collapsed in her arms and started crying, telling her in a thousand disorganized phrases that he had loved him, that he missed him, that he was gone, that he had tried to pray, that he had sung the prayers, as she guided him towards the nearby barn, where they probably would be alone. Coreen, before she started to weep too and lost her mastery of sorcery, teleported back to Athkatla.

She, unlike her brother, collapsed alone in her private room in the Cowled Wizards' building. She remained weeping for much the same reasons as Matteo, making a side mental note to visit Calandra's family again when she would be able to be more polite. But another reflection also started to make its way through her foggy brain, and this one was about the strength of her mother, and her own cowardice facing the difference of lifespan between elves, half-elves, and humans. It was no easy thing to admit to herself, and the actions it seemed to demand were no more easier or more certain. And this made her cry even more.

ooooo

Samir dragged himself miserably for a week. He knew he was just moping around, and he knew he must be terrible company for any who had the bad luck of being at the same table, but he could not help himself. He tried, but he could not. He would wake in the middle of the night crying, still singing in his dreams the prayer to Helm he had sung for his father. He would stop in the day, after he heard a rumour, and think: "Father would want the Order to know…" and remember that it was not so anymore. And he also thought of his mother a lot, alone now in the manor with only her memories, and he wanted to do something for her. But he did not dare to go visit her, because he felt so miserable himself that he was not convinced he could do much to help her.

But after a week, Rhizoperth showed up at the Five Flagons, and they shared a beer together. The knight asked for Matteo's news, and Samir tried to re-tell him the contents of the last letter without sounding too miserable. But as the knight left after an hour of uncomfortable silences and short sentences, Samir found he felt better.

The next day, he was not moping so pathetically anymore. He was not feeling good, but at least he felt like he was functioning. He was not in the mood to create anything or to interpret a lovely lively sonnet, but somehow the worst darkness seemed behind.

And he thought that maybe his father was still looking over him from a more distant place. He went to the Order to thank Rhizoperth for his visit, and apologize for being such awkward company – he was still awkward company that day. And when he came back to the Five Flagons, he met an elven bard from Evereska. The bard was curious about him when he saw that he was a half-elf, and after he heard of Samir's recent loss, he agreed to tell him many tales of his city, which would distract Samir and make him think of better things.

The bard was a good one. Another day after that, Samir went to the manor; it was the first time he went since Matteo was gone, and he felt guiltier now to think that his mother had probably been alone with the servants all this time.

Amousca was not there, it seemed. Guillaume told him that she was at the Sphere, and the servants were holding the house and sending her meals that the cook was making, and the maid went each afternoon to take care of the "household" of the Sphere. Samir nodded and left, before more memories started to shake his resolution. Surely his mother needed company, and he would be good company, at least to her for a moment, even if it meant breaking up crying for half an hour later on.

He found the sorceress blasting summoned creatures to dust with Fireballs, Cloudkills, Wiltings and Breaths. He looked at the practice chamber from the outside, peering by the small window in the door, until she was done.

She exited the room slowly, and when she saw him something changed in her attitude. She seemed to hesitate.

"I train, I take care of paperwork, I eat, I assign tasks to the golem, but I… I don't seem to have a goal anymore," she stated. "_Life_ doesn't seem to have a goal anymore."

But then she looked away. "I'm sorry, Samir, this is not… I should not be saying this to you."

"To whom else, Mother?", he asked, and he walked forward to take her in his arms.

She relaxed in his arms, and then she said: "I don't know, Samir. To someone who doesn't bear his own grief."

Samir held her more tightly against him. "Maybe someone who doesn't bear grief would not understand. But I do, even if I have nothing to answer. I… I do not have my father's wisdom."

With that, he felt that she stiffened, and she slowly drew back. She sighed. "Your father…" Her eyes filled with tears, and she paused for a while. "Your father told me not to regret him. And if I… let life lose its goal, then I will regret him. But I do not know how, Samir… I just don't know how…"

"Maybe… maybe just time?"

Amousca sighed. "Yes, maybe time." And she cried again, together with Samir.

ooooo

Coreen walked into the Headquarters of the Order of the Most Radiant Heart hesitantly. There were some uncomfortable stares at her Senior Cowled Wizard robe, but she was hesitant mostly because of her own motives rather than the others' stares.

In front of the door to the knights' rooms, she paused and took a breath. She knocked. A young novice answered her, but before she could say anything, Rhizoperth appeared in the doorway.

"Milady," he said. "Good day to you. Are you looking for Matteo? I believe he left for the De'Arnisse lands two days ago."

"I know, I'm the one who took him there. It's you I… oh maybe I should just go to a priest, but I… wanted to speak to someone."

She blushed; she was not being honest, but only saying this much was already costing her all her courage.

"Very well, Coreen," Rhizoperth said, with a curious expression on his face. He gestured her to one of the small rooms that served as antechamber. He closed gently the door behind him, and he turned to look at her.

She was leaning back against the table, her eyes down on her hands gripping tightly her staff. Her knuckles were white and he could not see her face, as her hood was falling low on her forehead.

"I," she started, before she fell silent. Rhizoperth listened to the silence for a while, then he gently prompted:

"Yes, Coreen?"

"I don't know," she said thickly.

He walked in a metallic clicking of armour to go to lean on the table next to her. Her hand slowly came up, as though it was a terrible effort, to lower her hood, and she pushed her heavy, auburn hair away from her neck. She was crying silently.

"Are you my friend?", she asked then.

"I would be your best friend if you would have allowed me, my lady," he answered. He had not felt like she was wishing for them to become close. But she obviously needed a friend in this instant, and it was true: if she let him be her friend, he would be her friend.

She lifted her eyes to look at him, her green eyes filling with more tears as she considered his answer. He removed his gauntlet – he was preparing to go training with his squire when she had come – and put his hand on her shoulder.

"Rhizoperth, I want you to be my friend. And I don't know how I could ever let you think that I didn't."

"Then a good friend you have, my lady."

She nodded in silence, looking down once more. He began to wonder why she was there. At first, he had thought it must have had something to do with Anomen's passing, but now he was confused, and so was she, apparently.

"Is this… is this what it means to be human?", she asked finally, feebly. "The short lifespan, is this what it means? That there is no time… no time to live with the ones close to you?"

Then he understood. He sighed, and put an armoured arm around her shoulders.

"No, Coreen. Maybe it seems this way to a half-elf, but it is not a short time."

She began to sob.

"How can you say that. You're human, Rye. You're the one that's going to die in a few years."

"In many years, if Torm allows it," he corrected gently. "Is it what you think, Coreen, that the years are all that count, but not what is in it?"

"But what _is_ in it?", she cried. "My mother will live centuries yet, and what awaits her now? She will no longer raise her children, no longer adventure with her fellow team-mates, no longer live with her husband. But why is it so empty for her now that Father is gone? Why couldn't Father have all these years too?"

Rhizoperth sighed. "It is who we are; we are human. And I think… I think your mother knew this, when she chose to love a human, and I think she understood. She is a very wise lady, and I believe she knew that what matters is how the years with sir Anomen were, not how many there were."

There was a pause, Coreen still holding back her sobs, Rhizoperth's arm around her shoulder.

"Coreen… I understand this is not easy. And if you do not want to be faced with this, repeatedly, then… perhaps you should go to the elves. Maybe… they would understand you better than I can."

"No, Rye, that's not why I am here," she said, lifting her head to look at him. "I have already thought much about this, but I could not resist asking you, because… I hoped you would have an easy solution." She shrugged. "I know it is _how_ and not _how long_ that matters, and… I don't know why but I… I needed to come here, today, and to tell it to you. That, and-and that, because the _how long_ is uncertain, Torm knows it, I-I needed to come here and… I don't know how to say it. Just… start? Be your friend now, and… appreciate each minute of _how_ I am your friend, trying not to worry for the _how long_ you'll be around."

At the beginning, Rhizoperth was a little shocked, because he had never expected anything of the sort. But as she went on, painfully searching for words, it gave him time to absorb and understand what she was saying. So, when she finished, he drew her into a hug, remembering at the last moment that she was not wearing any armour, and that he had to check his strength.

"Coreen. Of course, I will be your friend… each passing moment from now on. No matter how long."

"Alright," she said with a little voice, and he felt she was weak in his embrace. "Can I cry a bit because my father is gone, and will my new friend comfort me now?"

"I've been the same as if I had been your friend for a long time, Coreen. And I will comfort you as best I can."

She wanted to say that she was sorry that she had not "allowed" him to be her friend. She wanted to thank him for being her friend. She wanted to say how grateful she was to have someone to talk to. She wanted to tell him how much his comfort meant to her.

But she could not hold tears and grief and pain and loss any longer. She started to cry and clung to his armour in an awkward move, entangling them both in her cape. She felt Rhizoperth removing his second glove, starting to slowly pat her back with his naked hands with gentle and comforting moves. It served only to make her cry more, and she heard his low voice from very far, saying many soothing things to her, but somehow she could not hear his words, only the tone of his friendship in his voice.

Maybe she did not need to say all these things. Maybe he would understand, or maybe not. But they were friends, and maybe friends did not need to apologize or thank each other for such things. Maybe she need not talk at all. She just cried.

THE END


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